


The Sharpest Lives

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Fencing, M/M, i know nothing about fencing though so bear with me, yay a fencing fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-24 04:33:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/935414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire has never really liked his appearance. </p><p>Rolling out of bed, jumping in a quick shower and pulling on jeans and a t-shirt is his idea of a morning routine, and he’s never felt the need to change it. He knew he wasn’t really attractive, though, despite having fenced all his life to stay strong and fit, because he probably would have been able to keep a relationship if he were.</p><p>And now, just being in the same room as this boy, this glorious blond boy, makes him feel ridiculously self-conscious in a way he’s really not too happy about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sharpest Lives

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from the My Chemical Romance song by the same title.
> 
> I'm honestly the biggest dweeb ever.

Grantaire has never really liked his appearance. 

Rolling out of bed, jumping in a quick shower and pulling on jeans and a t-shirt is his idea of a morning routine, and he’s never felt the need to change it. He knew he wasn’t really attractive, though, despite having fenced all his life to stay strong and fit, because he probably would have been able to keep a relationship if he were.

And now, just being in the same room as this boy, this glorious blond boy, makes him feel ridiculously self-conscious in a way he’s really not too happy about. The boy seems to glow, smiling and quietly watching his friends as they joke and fight playfully with extra sabres. 

He wonders if the curly-haired boy is the fencer, as he seems to know more about the footing and the ways to block the advances of the bespectacled boy. 

Suddenly he feels the weight of a gaze trained on him, and he looks back to the golden boy, who is now watching Grantaire watch his friends. He meets the other boy’s icy blue eyes, and watches him smirk and slide smoothly to his feet. He saunters over to his friends, who stop fighting immediately, and exchange a few words that are utterly indecipherable to Grantaire, who is across the room. They end up breaking apart, with auburn-hair going to sit down where blondie was sitting before, grabbing a water bottle and taking a swig. Blondie grabs a sabre, tossing it from hand to hand before settling into a slightly position offensive starting position. 

The two boys pause for a moment, before curly nods and suddenly blondie launches into an attack. Curly is good, but he stays mainly on the defensive, blocking blondie’s attacks, which are an almost un-followable collection of presses and quatres and ripostes. Grantaire pities curly a little, as blondie is positively vicious, their lack of proper protection not seeming to matter to him. 

Grantaire is enthralled.

He’s analyzing every single movement the other makes, from his perfect lines to his incredible strength, from his lightning quick adaptation to his impeccable footing. The boy is exactly what trainers like Grantaire are always trying to teach their students, and professionals like him are constantly trying to attain. Grantaire just wants to bottle up everything the boy is and show it to his students, but something about the way he’s fighting tells him that trying to do so would be impossible.

Blondie gets curly stuck with his sabre at the other’s throat, and that’s when Grantaire first sees the gorgeous boy smile. Curly only relaxes when the sabre is lowered, and opens his hand up for his water bottle, which auburn-hair tosses to him, coming to speak with his friends. The blond boy exchanges a few words, but leaves shortly after, and suddenly Grantaire realizes that he’s headed straight towards him. Grantaire straightens his back, raising his eyebrows as the golden boy comes to a stop before him.

“Impressed?” he asks, and Grantaire shrugs, making an amending gesture and motioning for the boy to sit down beside him, which he does.

Grantaire clears his throat and nonchalantly says, “I could beat you, though.”

The boy snorts and takes a drink from his bottle. “Right,” he says sarcastically, and Grantaire loves it. “I haven’t lost a fight in three years."

“And I haven’t lost one in 8,” Grantaire replies, effectively silencing the blond. They sit in a comfortable silence, watching other pairs fight all over the room, until the lady who organized the event stands up, tucks a stray hair behind her ear and calls for everyone to come sit on the benches. 

Grantaire and blondie rise, and the latter holds out his hand for Grantaire to shake. He does, and blondie smiles slightly, and says, “I’m Enjolras, by the way.”

“Good to meet you,” Grantaire says, and they make their ways over to the middle of the room. Enjolras goes to join his friends again, and Grantaire, much to Enjolras’ obvious confusion, stands next to the lady, who beams at the young men and women.

“Alright everyone, first of all thank you all for coming out today. I’m sure we’ll all have a blast.” she’s a little too peppy and sunny for Grantaire’s usual taste, but she seems sweet. “Second of all, I’d like to both thank and introduce you all to the 5 time USFA national champion of Men’s Epee, as well as Men’s Foil, Mr. Donatien Grantaire!”

There’s a slightly shocked silence that lasts a good ten seconds, during which Grantaire smiles at everyone, and shoots a smirk at Enjolras, who is stoically keeping him eyes on his sabre.

“Alright!” he says when no-one seems to be responding, clapping his hands together and smiling graciously at the lady. “Thank you, miss. I can take it from here.”

The organizer nods, slightly flustered as she scurries away to sit in another corner of the room.

“Ok, so yeah, hi, I’m Grantaire,” he says, shrugging. “It’s no big deal, honestly.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” a hand shoots up, and Grantaire sees it’s attached to a boy, who admittedly looks more than a little girlish, with delicate features and stunning red hair, pulled back into a messy bun. “But why do you never take your mask off after a bout?”

Grantaire sighs, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck as he mutters to himself. “You fucking knew it was gonna come up.” he mumbles, before looking up with a strained smile. “Ah, that’s not important right now. What we’re here for is fencing, right kids?”

An affirmative murmur goes through the fencers, and Enjolras scowls at Grantaire’s pointed look.

“Now we all know that some of you will come away from today with a request to come train with me personally, and others will not. The choice I make has nothing to do with how well you know the rules or the footing or the names of attacks, it has to do with if you have the spark I’m looking for. Many of you won’t be chosen today, and will continue on to be incredible fencers; I’m not the judge of if you’re a good fencer or not. I need certain people with a certain flair.” he says, and looks out on all the bright faces, eager to prove themselves. He turns to grab his sabre and mask, and asks, “So; who’s first?”

No-one volunteers.

“What do you mean?” the red-head asks, looking confused.

“You’re all going to fight me, right now,” he says, voice muffled through the mesh of his mask. “So I’ll ask again; who’s first?”

Again, no-one makes any move to volunteer, until the same boy shrugs, getting up and grabbing his mask with a grin.

“I’m game,” he says, walking over to the mat and settling into position. Grantaire lets the boy choose how he wants to start, and adjusts himself to fit with him.

“May I do the honours?” someone who’s watching asks, and Grantaire nods, already settling into his mind. “Alright, so; draw,” they both lift their blades, “Present,” they cross them in the air between them, and then draw them back. “And go!”

Grantaire launches into an attack, and the boy sidesteps and parries, lightning quick and seemingly weightless as he jumps back. The boy puts up a pretty decent fight, his small stature making it easier for him to dodge and harder for Grantaire to pin, but he manages it nonetheless, and within only about four minutes.

They finish the bout by presenting again, and the boy holds his hand out, letting Grantaire grip it and shake it firmly, grinning.

“Nice fight,” he says. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Jehan,” he answers with a smile. “It’s really a huge honour, sir.”

“Thanks,” Grantaire says, and turns to the room again. “Who’s next?”

The kids come up one by one, most of them sticking to the book and not doing anything original. A few of them do stand out, though, including both of Enjolras’ friends, and some other people who seem friendly with them. The auburn-haired boy, who Grantaire learns is actually called Combeferre, is an interesting opponent, his tactic seeming to be to keep himself aloof, not seeming to pay much attention to the fight, with lots of standing still and just fighting in one place. His fight with curly, whose name is apparently Courfeyrac, is probably the most fun, as he ads his own moves and changes existing ones, like stepping forward with the wrong foot, or bringing the opposite side of his blade down on Grantaire’s. He seems to enjoy keeping Grantaire on his toes and making him laugh with well placed comments, and Grantaire finds himself wanting to be friends with him.

Finally, he gets to Enjolras, who has been watching him fight with a pensive look on his face. He stands up gracefully when he’s the only one left, grabbing his sabre and stalking onto the mat as if he weren’t facing a national champion, and Grantaire was only another opponent of his age. He smirks at Grantaire before pulling his mask on, and the latter rolls his eyes. Enjolras settles into the same position as before, and they present their weapons.

When the “Go!” is called, Enjolras jumps forward and immediately throws himself into a deep lunge which narrowly misses Grantaire’s shoulder, who deflects the blow easily. Grantaire pretends to be tired, and not as razor sharp as he actually is, letting Enjolras almost get the better of him and then ducking out at the last second. He stays on the defensive, and simply resolves to wait the blond boy out. After almost ten minutes of aggressive fighting, Enjolras seems frustrated and is beginning to look tired. Grantaire continues to wait him out, keeping himself safe and completely untouched without really having to do too much moving. 

Finally, after another fifteen minutes, Enjolras falters in step, and Grantaire takes full advantage of the mistake. He lunges forward, attacking quickly and with remarkable strength, and has the point of his blade at Enjolras’ throat in less than five moves.

They’re both breathing heavily as Grantaire backs away, and they present again, chests heaving. Instead of leaving the mat, though, they stay standing there, just looking at each other. Grantaire eventually nods at his opponent, pulling off his mask and breathing in the cooler air.

“Not bad,” he says, smirking, and drops his sabre and mask to the ground beside him.

This apparently hits a nerve with Enjolras, who rips off his mask and seems to puff up, chest filling up with air and shoulders rising around his neck. He spins around and stomps off, out the door on the other end of the room and Courfeyrac gets up to follow him.

Grantaire turns to the other fencers, who are all sitting in silence, and gives them a wide-eyed look.

“What’d I do?”

**Author's Note:**

> So this is for my lovely Adrienne (dropples.tumblr.com), to whom I promised a fencing fic like, literally five months ago, and was always too lazy to type it. This has been sitting in a notebook under my bed since then, just waiting to be remembered. I'm sorry, darling.
> 
> Also Adrienne drew Grantaire fencing, and so I've used her art for ref. (What else is new?) Here is is: dropples.tumblr.com/post/52342977173/grantairefences-png
> 
> Um, so yes I have no clue about anything to do with fencing but I'm faking my way through it and I'm so so so sorry if I completely mutilate it.
> 
> I got my fencing lingo from here: www.synec-doc.be/escrime/dico/engl.htm
> 
> All feedback is amazing and I'll love you forever!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr too at marcobodttt.tumblr.com! Come say hi!


End file.
